


The Ship of Dreams

by Gimlisonofgloin



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: And Fischer just needs a hug, And let's get one thing straight here, Ariadne is mad, Arthur and Eames are lovesick, Cheesy Lines, Cobb is tired, Don't take it too seriously, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, M/M, Mal is laughing in limbo, Mutual Pining, No angst here, POV Multiple, Saito ships it, Swearing, This entire fic is basically canon, This was insanely fun to write, Yusuf is confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimlisonofgloin/pseuds/Gimlisonofgloin
Summary: In which Cobb has had it up to HERE with all the flirting. (And okay, to be fair, maybe everyone else has too.) All he wants is to see his children again--and for Arthur and Eames to get their heads out of their respective asses and just get on it with it already.





	1. Chapter One - Cobb's Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> This is both the best and worst thing I’ve ever written. I cackled while writing 99.99% of this story. I hope you enjoy. Also, the title was of course inspired by “Titanic”. *insert old lady saying “It was the ship of dreams” gif here* I obsessively watched “Inception” and wrote down the dialogue, so a lot of it is word-for-word from the movie, for that #realism and #aesthetic. I do not intend any copyright infringement on the movie or its script. Enjoy!

               “Eames? No, he’s in Mombasa. It’s Cobol’s backyard.”

               It took every ounce of Cobb’s self-control to not side eye the shit out of Arthur. How the _hell_ did he know where Eames was? “It’s a necessary risk,” Cobb said instead, trying his best to speak quickly and avoid eye contact. The beginning of an idea was forming in his mind, and he didn’t want Arthur to suspect what _he_ was beginning to suspect.

               “Well, there’s plenty of good thieves,” the point man said, incredulous and unconvinced.

               “We don’t just need a thief,” Cobb replied. “We need a forger.” Cobb tried to remain focused, but failed. The idea had planted itself in his mind and was now starting to take root. The _only_ way that Arthur could possibly know Eames’ whereabouts is if they were in contact with each other.

               But they hated each other, so that didn’t make sense.

               Unless…

               Unless they _didn’t_ hate each other.

               Arthur was busy grumbling about Eames, so Cobb snuck a peek at him out of the corner of his eye. Crazier pairings _had_ happened, he had to admit. They had the whole opposites-attract thing going for them. Just like he and Mal had.

_Huh_. Cobb wondered how Eames felt.

...

Cobb could feel his shirt sticking to him, and the slow trickle of sweat sliding down his back. It was too damn hot, but he wasn’t sweating only because of the heat. The man sitting over at the bar had been following him for the past hour. Eames had better make up his mind soon. Cobb needed to get out of here before something bad had to happen.

“Inception,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “Now, before you bother telling me it’s impossible, let me—”

“No, it’s perfectly possible,” Eames drawled, interrupting him. “It’s just bloody difficult.”

_Oh_. He hadn’t been expecting _that_ reaction. “Interesting,” Cobb said, smiling to himself. “Because _Arthur_ keeps telling me it can’t be done.”

He’d baited the hook. Now to see if Eames took it.

Eames chuckled. “ _Hmm_. Arthur,” he practically purred.

Cobb dug his fingernails into his palm as hard as he could. He could not betray a _single_ emotion right now. Not _one_ , no matter how delighted he was in this moment.

“You still working with that stick in the mud?” Eames was trying, and failing horribly, to appear laidback and casual.

Cobb couldn’t help side-eyeing him. “He _is_ good at what he does, right?” How much would Eames give away if he kept goading him?

“Oh, he’s the best,” Eames said far too quickly, “But he has no imagination.”

Cobb drank to forget what he’d just heard. So the crush _was_ requited. _Good god_. How long had this been going on? Had he really been so wrapped up in his own shit that he’d missed whatever _this_ was, happening right under his nose? If Mal were here right now…there’s no _way_ she wouldn’t have picked up on this.

Cobb forced himself to reply. “Not like you.”

“Listen, if you’re gonna perform inception, you need imagination.”

Eames had all but just prostrated himself at Cobb’s feet. He was practically _begging_ to join their little team.

And why?

So that he could be near Arthur, of course.

Cobb chuckled darkly to himself. Here he’d thought this was going to be difficult, but Eames had just played right into his hands. He’d convinced _himself_ to join the team. And all it had taken was mentioning Arthur.

_This is almost_ too _easy_ , Cobb thought. _I just inceptioned you, bitch_.

…


	2. Chapter Two - Eames' Perspective

               “So now in the first layer of the dream, I can impersonate Browning and suggest concepts to Fischer’s conscious mind. Then, when we take him a level deeper, his own projection of Browning should, _should_ feed that back to him.”

               Eames was rambling at this point, he knew. But it was hard for him to stay focused when Arthur was staring at him. Especially when he was looking at him like _that_.

               “So he gives _himself_ the idea,” Arthur said slowly.

_God. He’s so cute when his mind’s at work._ “Precisely. That’s the only way it’ll stick. It has to seem self-generated.”

               “Eames, I am impressed.” Arthur sat back in his chair and nodded. He looked Eames up and down as if he were finally seeing him for the first time.

               He was _impressed_? Of _this_ half-assed scheme? Eames couldn’t help but be irritated. Arthur was obviously mocking him. “Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you.” He gave Arthur the once-over and couldn’t help smirking slightly. Even if Arthur was a prat, he was a damned attractive one.

               Arthur frowned. Yusuf looked a little confused—as always, poor man, Eames needed to remember to buy him a drink (or three) for dragging him into this mess in the first place—and Saito was lounging in his chair, eyes half-open and clearly only half-listening.

               Eames sensed Cobb rolling his eyes behind his back. He’d been kind enough—if _kind_ was the right word—to let Eames rehearse this with him a few ***** times before he presented his idea to the team.

_Okay, fine._

               To present it to _Arthur_ , really. _He_ was the one Eames had told himself he needed to convince.

               Though it was actually more that _he_ was the one Eames wanted to impress.

               And now, apparently, he had. With this tenuous, shaky idea that a toddler could’ve dreamed up.

               Arthur looked lost in thought as the room fell into an awkward silence. Eames regretted being _quite_ so defensive and snarky—though it was arguably at least seventy percent of his charm—but the truth was, as much as he found Arthur almost unbearably attractive, work was _never_ something they’d seen eye to eye on. Eames could appreciate the perfect symmetry of Arthur’s face, his long, sleek, toned body, his—he could appreciate _a lot_ of things about Arthur, but even though he might not express it in the same way Arthur did, his work _was_ important to him. And he was concerned that if Arthur disrespected his work, he’d never truly understand him.

               It’s not that he wanted Arthur to abandon his precise and measured approach. Eames admired Arthur’s focus, his dedication. When he set his mind to something, he was unstoppable.

               But Eames also knew that Arthur was wrong, at least partially. The disciplined approach was only one way to accomplish an end. Eames’ style was more laidback, more freeform. He was still disciplined, just in a different way. He didn’t think that made him any less efficient or skilled than Arthur. Just because he liked a little imagination, a little fun and spontaneity, didn’t mean he wasn’t the very best at what he did.

               Arthur’s eyes were unfocused. He was staring at nothing.

               “What?” Eames couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice. “No pithy comeback?”

               “I was just…thinking.”

               “Well that’s a relief.” _Goddamnit, Eames! Ease up on the man. Let him breathe._

               “About your _plan_ , Eames. It’s a great idea. Truly. It’s…brilliant.”

               Had he just—? Was that an _actual_ compliment? Eames looked at Arthur intently. He sounded sincere, but Eames still wasn’t quite convinced. Arthur gazed back at him calmly. He seemed…peaceful. As if he’d just realized something important, something obvious. Something he should’ve known all along.

               Eames was bewildered. He didn’t know what to do if Arthur wasn’t insulting him. Could it be true? Did Arthur _actually_ admire his plan for once? “If you’re mocking me,” he said slowly, searching Arthur’s face for any sign of a smile at his expense, “You’re doing an awfully good job of hiding it.”

               Arthur did smile then, but it was small and gentle. He stood and walked slowly over to Eames, whose heart was suddenly beating irregularly for some reason. Cobb stood, ready to intervene if necessary, and Yusuf looked as if he were about to speak, but then seemed to think better of it.

               Arthur placed a hand on Eames’ shoulder. “I’m serious,” he said, and his smile was the most beautiful bloody thing Eames had ever seen. “Good work.”

               It took every fiber in his being not to grab Arthur right then and kiss the hell out of him. Instead, he smiled back and thanked him.

               It was too soon to make his move. The pieces were falling into place, though. Eames was more and more sure that there was a spark there, with each passing day. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to believe that not only did Arthur admire his work, but that he also admired _him_ , too. And as more than just a coworker. So _much_ more, Eames hoped.

               And as Arthur squeezed his shoulder, letting his hand linger a few moments too long, Eames made a decision. When this was all over—and _god_ , how he wished it could just be done already—he was going to tell Arthur how he felt. Well—first he was going to kiss him. Throw him off balance, like he’d been doing to him for weeks, if not longer.

               As Arthur walked away, Eames barely registered Cobb’s quiet sigh of relief, or Saito’s chuckle. All Eames could focus on was how _happy_ he felt, and how validated. Arthur had _actually_ liked one of his ideas. It was a small miracle. And discovering that maybe there was a reason why he cared so much about Arthur’s opinion—maybe that was too.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AN: It was more like 50.


	3. Chapter Three - Arthur's Perspective

               Eames was presenting his idea to all of them—well, he seemed primarily to be presenting it to Arthur. He had papers in his hand and he was reading from them as if he were giving a book report. Arthur couldn’t help smiling slightly to himself. Eames was so _earnest_ right now. He seemed nervous, so unlike his usual, unflappable self. He obviously cared a lot about this idea, even though, from the bits Arthur had _actually_ been paying attention to—Eames had amazing lips and they _may_ or may not have been distracting him—it seemed a little thin at best.

               Still, this was clearly something Eames cared passionately about. He had obviously rehearsed this speech several times. A little encouragement might go a long way, especially since their last job had ended on less-than-ideal terms. Arthur vaguely recalled using the term “hack” to describe Eames—to his _face_. Cobb had had to physically separate them.

               But what was Arthur supposed to do _now_? Eames had had _no_ right, no right at all, to show up _here_ looking like _that_. He had always been handsome, of course, which was a fact Arthur had always kept registered far, far back in the recesses of his mind. But Eames had somehow gotten even _hotter_ since he’d last seen him. Arthur could notice this fact without admitting it to himself.

               Just like his big, fat, stupid crush on the forger.

_Yes Arthur, just ignore it,_ that’ll _make it go away._ That always worked _so_ well for him.

               He didn’t realize Eames had stopped talking, and that Arthur was staring a little _too_ intently at him, until he caught Cobb’s smug expression over Eames’ shoulder. He was smirking at Arthur as if he knew a secret.

_Screw you. Deal with Mal and_ then _we can talk about our_ feelings _._

               Cobb raised an eyebrow at him as the silence stretched on. Eames looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. _What the hell was his plan again? Something about Fischer…?_ _Oh screw it._

               “So he gives _himself_ the idea.” Arthur said it as a statement, but it was really more of a question. He prayed that he hadn’t been _too_ distracted by Eames’ strong shoulders to completely miss what he’d said.

               “Precisely.” Arthur mentally sighed in relief. “That’s the only way it’ll stick,” Eames continued. “It has to seem self-generated.”

               It might be a little weak, but it was still a pretty good idea. Much better than anything _he’d_ been able to come up with in the past few weeks, much to Cobb’s continued annoyance.

               “Eames, I am impressed.” And he was. Arthur leaned back in his chair and nodded. He couldn’t stop himself from oh-so-subtly giving Eames the once-over. The man was a tall drink of water. He saw Cobb stifle a laugh. Arthur pointedly ignored him. _So sue me. I’m just admiring the view._

               Eames looked deeply offended. “Your condescension, as always, is much appreciated, Arthur, thank you.”

_Damn!_ What had he done to deserve _that_ reaction?

               Eames was smirking slightly, which was confusing, but not as confusing as him _also_ looking Arthur up and down. Was Eames angry at him or not? It was always so hard to tell how he felt.

               It didn’t help that Arthur was absolute _crap_ with emotions. He knew most people thought of him as cold, always so calculating and focused. And it wasn’t that he had some big wellspring of deep-seeded feelings that he was hiding, or anything. He _was_ usually pretty even keel. It’s just that every time he interacted with Eames, he was thrown off balance, and he didn’t know why.

               Or maybe he did, but he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

               It dawned on him—Eames was so used to Arthur criticizing him, so used to Arthur picking apart his ideas, that now he either assumed Arthur was joking or he couldn’t believe that he found _this_ idea worthwhile, not when he’d had so many great ideas in the past that Arthur had shot down.

               Arthur frowned. He’d definitely always been too harsh on Eames’ ideas. He thought that “imagination” was all it took to accomplish anything, but Arthur knew there was no substitute for practice and planning.

               In the past, Arthur would’ve rolled his eyes at Eames and his hurt pride. But not now. Arthur could admit, if only to himself for the moment, that Eames and his vivid, wonderful imagination were crucial parts of their team. He knew he needed to be kinder to him. He needed to praise his work more frequently. If they ever did get together—and oh, how that secret part of him wished they would—it would always be a point of contention for them. After the lust faded, resentment would set in. Arthur needed to do what he could now to mend that fence and get Eames to understand that he admired him _and_ his imagination—he always had, of course, but he’d just been slightly jealous of the flashy man. He could throw things together and operate in a slapdash and spontaneous way, and Arthur just _couldn’t_. He had to meticulously plan and account for everything. Whenever he tried to be spontaneous, it backfired horribly.

               “What? No pithy comeback?”

               Arthur hadn’t realized he’d spaced out until Eames had spoken. “I was just…thinking,” he said lamely.

               “Well that’s a relief.”

               “About your _plan_ , Eames. It’s a great idea. Truly. It’s…brilliant.” And he meant it.

               Eames was searching his face for any sign of sarcasm. “If you’re mocking me, you’re doing an awfully good job of hiding it.” He looked at Arthur coyly.

               It was obvious he was flattered, but Arthur could tell how desperately he wanted to be assured that Arthur was being sincere. He stood and walked over to him, ignoring Saito’s smirk, Yusuf’s confusion, and Cobb’s mother hen hovering, anticipating another fight breaking out between his boys.

               Arthur placed his hand on one of Eames’ beautiful, strong shoulders. “I’m serious,” he said, and smiled. “Good work.”

               To Arthur’s delight, Eames seemed dazed for a moment, especially by his smile. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said, and smiled back.

…


	4. Chapter Four - Cobb's Perspective

               Arthur was taking notes like a nerd, because _of course_ he was. He was wearing a sharp gray suit and a tie—when _wasn’t_ he? The man was ridiculous—and a maroon shirt. He was clean-shaven, and his hair was slicked back like always.

               Cobb shuddered slightly to himself. The amount of hair gel that Arthur went through—it truly baffled the mind. It was like he’d watched “Grease” as a kid and still thought that was the “in” look.

               Not that Eames looked any better. He was wearing a particularly ugly shirt, in a shade of yellow that had no business being on a piece of clothing. He had a huge watch on, as always, and per usual he hadn’t bothered to shave.

               It would’ve bothered Cobb more if he weren’t the _only_ _one_ actually doing anything. Eames was just spit balling ideas, most of which were complete crap, but at least he was _speaking_. Everyone else was dead silent for some reason. Arthur was busy scribbling done every inane thing that Eames said, but he hadn’t actually said a word.

               Cobb sighed to himself. _You did this to yourself. This is the crew_ you _picked._ If Mal were here now, she’d be laughing her ass off at him.

               ““My father accepts that I want to create for myself, not follow in his footsteps.””

               More than anything, Cobb wanted to roll his eyes, but a part of him knew that the more Eames bullshitted, the closer they might get to an _actual_ idea. “That might work.”

               “ _Might?_ We’re gonna need to do a little better than _might_.”

_Great,_ now _he speaks._ Why was Arthur being a dick, anyway? He was probably still mad about Eames snapping at him. Not like that had happened _three days ago_ or anything, oh no! It was _perfectly_ reasonable for Arthur to still be pouting over that. Perfectly.

               “Thank you for your contribution, Arthur,” Eames said sarcastically.

_For once we’re on the same wavelength._

               And then the loafing moron _turned in his chair to grin at Arthur_ for no goddamn reason.

_Aaaaand now we’re not._

               Arthur was unmoved. “Forgive me for wanting a little _specificity_.”

               A kaleidoscope of emotions played across Eames’ face—surprise, confusion, delight, intrigue. He mouthed “ _Specificity?_ ” at Arthur.

               Cobb wanted to die. Was anyone else _seeing_ this crap? What the hell was going on? This train had gone completely off the rails, and it was all his fault.

               Arthur was confused by Eames’—frankly bizarre, even by lovestruck standards—reaction. “ _Specificity?”_ He said the word as if Eames were a complete idiot and didn’t know its definition.

               Eames, of course, didn’t look bothered at all. And why should he? _Arthur_ was paying attention to him.

_Good god._

               Cobb glanced around the room. Every single person looked as confused as he felt. He sighed to himself, feeling slightly better that he wasn’t the only one. “Inception’s not about being specific.” _Dumbass._ “When we get inside his mind,” he continued, “We’re gonna have to work with what we find.”

_Like me trying to set you two assholes up. God, I wish Mal were here. She would know what to do. Give me_ something _to work with. Jesus Christ._

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sassy Cobb is the best Cobb.


	5. Chapter Five - Eames' Perspective

               Eames had been watching Ariadne and Arthur all afternoon. She seemed like a nice enough girl, but Arthur was a little _too_ eager to help her and answer her questions, at least in his eyes.

               Currently Ariadne was trying to puzzle out the finer points of inception and how it all worked. Eames remembered having as many questions when _he’d_ first started, but _still_. This was all a little boring.

               So when lovely, innocent Ariadne asked what a kick was, and Eames looked over at Arthur, tilting back in his chair and trying—and _almost_ succeeding—to look cool…well, he really couldn’t be expected to help himself, now could he?

               “This, Ariadne, would be a kick.”

               It was so easy. He was right next to Arthur, because— _well_ , because he liked to be near him, if he were being honest. It didn’t matter that Cobb had raised an eyebrow at him, as if to indicate all the space in the room, and that there was no need to be so close to him. It didn’t matter at all. Because now he was able to do _this_.

               He stuck his foot out and nudged Arthur’s precariously-perched chair.

               Arthur, suave and athletic as ever, quickly recovered. He sat still for a moment, all four corners of his chair now safely on the ground. He turned and gave Eames a look, which honestly made him more attractive than ever.

               Eames smiled rakishly back at him, delighting in the faint blush on Arthur’s cheeks. Did his eyes deceive him, or was Arthur blushing _harder_ now, the longer that Eames held his gaze?

               Arthur stood up abruptly. “ _Unprofessional_ ,” he muttered angrily to himself. “ _Childish_.” He dusted imaginary specks off his jacket and walked away in a huff.

               Eames turned to Ariadne. “Worth it,” he said, and got up to follow Arthur to see if he could go bother him some more. _And_ to see if he could make him blush again. Especially that.

…


	6. Chapter Six - Arthur's Perspective

               “What’s a kick?” Ariadne asked.

               Arthur, who was leaning back in his chair to distract himself from Eames’ closeness, perked up a little. He didn’t mind helping Ariadne learn the ropes—she was nice, and he liked her—but in all honesty, the day had been pretty boring. The most interesting part had been watching Eames’ reactions to his interactions with Ariadne. Eames was trying, and failing horribly, to look disinterested in the two of them, but any time Arthur leaned close to help Ariadne with something, he could practically see the waves of jealousy rolling off him.

               The forger hadn’t seemed to notice that Arthur had _specifically_ maneuvered his chair to be as close to his as possible. He could almost sense Cobb’s knowing gaze aimed at him, but Arthur pointedly chose to ignore it. The way Eames had looked at him when he’d said _specificity_ earlier—how was he supposed to stay away from him after _that_? He would do anything to get that kind of reaction out of him again.

               But despite Eames’ obvious jealousy, the day had been dragging slowly on. Arthur was actually looking forward to answering Ariadne’s question.

               Before he had a chance to speak, however, Eames interjected. “This, Ariadne, would be a kick.”

               With a swift swat of Eames’ foot, Arthur’s heart momentarily stopped beating. He lunged forward in his chair, desperate to correct the backwards momentum Eames had just caused.

               He managed to land his chair safely back on all four legs. He shot Eames a withering look. He wanted to be more annoyed, but the fact was, Eames had just showed his hand. If he was _that_ bothered by Arthur talking to Ariadne that he felt the need to pick on him in front of her—that meant he had at least a little bit of a crush on him.

               Eames smiled at him. _God, he was attractive._ Arthur wanted to lean over and kiss him. And then maybe push him over, just to even the score.

               He expected Eames to look away or crack a joke, but he just kept staring at him and smiling. Arthur could feel himself beginning to blush. Eames’ smile widened, if that were possible.

               If Eames didn’t stop looking at him, Arthur was going to do something idiotic. And he did _not_ have time for distractions right now. They were in the middle of a job, for god’s sake. _Better to act like you’re pissed off._

               He stood. “ _Unprofessional_ ,” he muttered, making sure Eames could hear him. “ _Childish_.”

               He pretended to dust off his jacket and had to bite his lip hard to keep from bursting out laughing. He couldn’t help it—he felt almost giddy. Eames _liked_ him.

               Arthur worried he might be laying it on a bit too thick. He was being _so_ dramatic. There was no way anyone was buying this charade. He needed to make a quick exit before he gave himself away.

               As he turned to leave, he heard Eames say, “ _Worth_ it.” He knew Eames had spoken loudly enough so that Arthur could hear him.

               As he began walking away, he sensed Eames behind him, following him out. Arthur was happy he was turned away from everyone, or else they might have been confused by his giant smile.

…


	7. Chapter Seven - Yusuf's Perspective

               Yusuf was not getting paid enough for this. _Seriously._ No amount of money could be worth two idiots flirting with one another relentlessly, each too stubborn and scared to do anything about it.

               When he’d first met Eames a number of years ago, he hadn’t had any issues with him. They’d worked quite a few jobs together at this point, and although the forger tended to be a little _too_ laidback at times, he always managed to get the job done, and at the end of the day, that was all Yusuf really cared about.

               Until now.

               All he wanted to do was test his sedatives in peace. It was the only thing Cobb had asked him to do. Arthur had been willing to be his guinea pig, which was a relief, as no one else had lined up to volunteer.

               And things had gone smoothly—for about _two hours_ or so. Somehow Eames had found out what Arthur was helping Yusuf with, and they hadn’t had a moment of peace since.

               Eames was there. He was _always_ there. It didn’t matter that Yusuf and Arthur didn’t tell him when they were going to be running their tests. _Somehow_ he always found out.

               It was obvious that he was madly in love with Arthur. His annoying playground flirting disrupted his experiments and set Arthur on edge.

               It was also obvious—to everyone but Eames himself, he was sure—that Arthur liked Eames as well. While it was understandable to be slightly bothered by Eames’ antics, it didn’t warrant the deep blushes that colored Arthur’s cheeks.

               As the days dragged on, and Eames continued to _always_ be there, laughing as Arthur fell, smirking, smiling, completely starry-eyed—sometimes Yusuf wondered if he was going crazy. Was he the only one seeing this? Was he secretly dreaming? Was this all some sort of elaborate joke? He sincerely hoped it wasn’t, because if it was, he didn’t understand the humor _at all_.

…


	8. Chapter Eight - Eames' Perspective

               “Are you all right?”

_Aww. He sounded so concerned._ “Yeah, I’m okay,” Eames said, turning around to face Arthur. The point man’s face was pale. “I’m okay,” he said again.

               Arthur continued to stare at him. _Oh, right. He meant Fischer._ Eames looked at the man seated next to him. He was shaken, but he appeared to be fine. “Fischer’s okay, unless he gets car sick.” _Great, Eames._ _Tell a joke to hide the fact that you’re hurt Arthur wasn’t asking about you._

               Arthur nodded and turned to Saito, who was seated next to him. Eames sighed to himself. Arthur was always so focused on work, on the job. What if he’d _actually_ been concerned about him?

               Eames wished he was sitting in the front seat. Maybe then he could’ve run his hands over Arthur, to make sure _he_ was all right…

               He felt himself blush. He was hopeless. Everybody _had_ to know, even Arthur. He was such a lost cause. The way he picked on Arthur, or was always around him, even how he couldn’t keep from smiling 90 percent of the time because he was just so damn happy to be _near_ Arthur. To get to spend time with him again. To shamelessly flirt with him.

               His goal was to ruffle Arthur’s feathers. One of these days, Eames was going to sweep that suave, debonair man off his feet.

               Eames couldn’t help chuckling quietly to himself. Fischer gave him a nervous sideways glance, but he didn’t even notice. _Arthur_ was nearby. How could he focus on anything but that?

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Fischer.


	9. Chapter Nine - Arthur's Perspective

               The back window exploded in a flurry of bullets. Arthur gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, and swerved to avoid the gunfire as much as he could. His heart was in his throat. Eames was in the backseat—wonderful, capable Eames—and was doing his best to take out the shooters.

               When the bullets finally stopped, Arthur looked over his shoulder. Was Eames okay? What if there was blood everywhere? What if he’d gotten Eames killed?

               “Are you all right?” He tried, and failed, to keep the worry and panic from his voice. There was no response for several heart-stopping moments, and his neck hurt from craning it around to see directly behind him. Why the hell had Eames sat _there_? Why not _next_ to him—

_That’s not the job, Arthur. Focus._

               “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m okay,” Eames said. He sounded a little dazed, but otherwise seemed to be fine.

               Arthur heaved a sigh of relief. His heart resumed beating.

               “Fischer’s okay, unless he gets carsick,” Eames added.

_Jesus._ Fischer _. I should’ve looked at_ him _when I asked the question._

               But a part of Arthur was also sad that Eames would just _assume_ he wasn’t asking about _him_. _You_ could _just tell him how you feel,_ a small voice in his head reminded him for the umpteenth time. The voice sounded suspiciously like Cobb.

               Arthur mentally cursed himself. This Eames situation was getting out of control. If they both made it through this job—and they had _better_ , or Arthur was going to kill Cobb himself—he _had_ to tell Eames. He knew Eames would never do anything, not at this point. He thought Arthur hated him, most likely. He would never make the first move.

…


	10. Chapter Ten - Saito's Perspective

               Meanwhile, Saito was casually bleeding out in the front seat. He already felt light-headed, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. He would’ve been more upset if he hadn’t just witnessed such an obvious display of concern and caring on Arthur’s part.

               He’d started shipping Eames and Arthur within five seconds of seeing them first interact. It was painfully obvious how much they loved each other. Saito was delighted that he’d been able to play a part in their beautiful reunion.

               If he made it out of this alive, he needed to have a chat with Cobb. They needed to combine forces and find a way to get these two morons _together_ already.

               Saito sighed to himself. His love for this ship was somehow more painful than his goddamn bullet wound.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saito is the best.


	11. Chapter Eleven - Eames' Perspective

               He calculated everything he said around Arthur, but the “darling” had accidentally slipped out. What was he _supposed_ to do? It was one of the only times they’d been alone this entire job, and Arthur had maybe, possibly, _hopefully_ just shown some concern for Eames’ wellbeing just moments ago.

               Out of the corner of his eye, Eames saw Arthur stiffen, but he looked more confused than disgusted. That was something, right?

_Jesus Christ, Eames. Get it together._

               But it was no use, not where Arthur was concerned. Eames was 99 percent sure that Cobb suspected him now, and knew about his stupid crush. When Cobb had first recruited him for this shitshow of a project, the way he’d said Arthur’s _name_ , the way he’d said he was the _best_ —Cobb had given him the strangest look. Even with Mal and all the other shit Cobb seemed to be dealing with, even _he_ could tell.

               Did that mean—did _everyone_ know?

               Eames fumbled with his weapon, trying his best not to blush. The worst thing he could do now was fuck up in front of Arthur. _You can’t just casually call your crush_ darling _and then screw the pooch, Eames._

               He finally managed to wrangle his gun into position. All it took was one shot, and the men on the rooftop were no longer a problem.

_Thank_ god _._

               Eames turned and made a hasty retreat. He needed some time to think. If Cobb knew—who _else_ did? Ariadne _had_ to have her suspicions after he’d tried to embarrass Arthur in front of her. He wasn’t sure if Saito knew—the man was inscrutable—but Yusuf _absolutely_ did.

               He’d remarked once that Eames didn’t _have_ to stick around while he ran his sedative tests with Arthur, and Eames knew he had _not_ given a good enough reason why he was staying.

               “It’s hilarious,” he’d said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He’d turned redder and redder as Yusuf had continued to stare at him incredulously.

               “Well, it’s not like you’re in the way or anything…” And he’d shrugged his shoulders, but not before winking knowingly at Eames.

               They’d known each for years, and had always gotten along just fine, but Eames knew he’d exasperated the usually patient and gentle man by the end of his experiments.

               In fact, right before they’d all boarded—well, _Saito’s_ —plane, Yusuf had pulled Eames aside and had told him to _just go for it already_.

               Yusuf was a quiet person, and had never been one to meddle in his affairs before. But if even _he_ had felt the need to speak up…

_Oh god._

_Everyone_ knew.

               Did that mean Arthur did too?

…


	12. Chapter Twelve - Arthur's Perspective

               What the hell was up with Eames lately? He’d just called him _darling_ , which Arthur was pretty sure he hadn’t meant to say. But then again, Eames was always teasing him, playing pranks—this was most likely just another instance of that.

               Right?

               Arthur had to admit—if that was the case, he’d be a little disappointed. Eames— _Eames_. Something was going on between the two of them, and he hoped it’s what he thought it was. Normally he’d spend hours analyzing the situation, but he couldn’t focus. Every time he thought he’d figured out what was happening, Eames would act weird again, and Arthur’s mind would be scrambled, sometimes for hours.

               He kind of liked it, if he were being honest with himself. Eames was _exciting_. He was constantly laughing at Arthur, picking on him. Even when he genuinely tried to give the man a compliment, Eames always had some snarky reply. Arthur kept going back and forth on this point, but if didn’t know any better, he’d say Eames had a crush on him.

               In the past, that might have sent him running for the hills. Arthur didn’t have time for romance. He needed to focus on his work. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. But there was something about Eames, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But what it boiled down to was pretty simple. Arthur didn’t really mind that much when Eames picked on him or laughed at him. He _liked_ Eames’ laugh. And if it was at his own expense, that was okay with him too. He _liked_ Eames. He liked being around him.

               But what he didn’t know was what to do about it. They were in the middle of Cobb’s crazy, half-baked scheme. If Eames hadn’t been there, Arthur would’ve been especially pissed at Cobb for endangering all their lives like this. But Eames had just called him _darling_ , and it had confused and distracted Arthur. It was kind of nice, in a weird way. His mind kept swirling around, and he couldn’t focus on any one thing. He was torn between laughing aloud, or a snippy response, or just grabbing Eames by the shoulders and kissing the hell out of him. Who would be more flustered then?

               Arthur smiled to himself. Probably still him. Eames was like a cat, always landing on his feet. It would take a lot to throw him off-kilter.

               Still…Arthur didn’t quite know why, but he was fairly certain that _he_ could. He couldn’t pinpoint why that sent a thrill through him, but it did. He knew they were on a job, and he needed to eliminate distractions. But he was tired of always playing by the rules, of calculating everything so carefully, of never having a single hair out of place. What was so wrong with a little spontaneity?

               Arthur wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He’d let Eames be his guide, for now. Cobb would be _furious_ with Arthur if he tried anything now, he was sure of it. But he could wait. He wasn’t usually patient, but he didn’t mind waiting for Eames.

               Because Arthur already knew, and it made him feel surprisingly calm, despite the dangers they were currently facing. He already knew, and a part of him had always known, that Eames liked him. And it was only moderately surprising to discover that he liked him back.

…


	13. Chapter Thirteen - Arthur's Perspective

               Arthur had all of them positioned correctly. One by one he sent them to sleep. Eames was one of the last. Arthur didn’t know why, exactly. Did he hope they might have a chance to talk for a minute, without being overheard?

               Or maybe it had just been the natural progression.

_Yeah, sure._

               “Security’s gonna run you down hard,” Eames said, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

               “And I will lead them on a merry chase.” He couldn’t keep a small smile from tugging at the corner of his lips.

               Eames beamed up at him, but then shook his head. “Just be back before the kick,” he said, suddenly serious.

               Was that— _concern_ in his voice? Arthur wanted to hesitate, wanted to ask Eames if he really cared, wanted to tell him to be careful himself.

               But Cobb was still awake, although he seemed lost in his own little world, and Eames was already drifting off to sleep. Besides, Arthur didn’t have time to hesitate. And Eames was only saying that because he didn’t want to get stuck in limbo, right? He was just saying that because he didn’t think Arthur could handle the security.

               Or maybe he did, but he wanted to mess with him one last time. Just in case.

               “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”

               Perhaps he’d said it too quickly, too coldly. But it didn’t matter. Eames was already asleep.

               Arthur still needed to send Cobb on his way, but before he did, he took a moment to look at Eames, _really_ look at him. The broad-shouldered man was still managing to smirk, even in his sleep.

               He was beautiful. It wasn’t enough to say he was handsome. His lips, his eyes, his laidback, almost cat-like presence—he was almost perfect.

_Good_ god _. You have_ got _to make it through this, Arthur. Something…you’ve got to_ do _something already. You have to make a move._

…


	14. Chapter Fourteen - Eames' Perspective

               Arthur was completely focused on his task. It was when he was most attractive, in Eames’ opinion. They were getting ready to go into the final dream. Eames was sad Arthur wasn’t going with them, but it was probably for the best. He was more than capable of watching over everyone while they went into the next dream, and besides—if he wasn’t there, he wouldn’t distract Eames, as he had been this entire time.

               Eames smiled to himself. Not that he _minded_ being distracted, of course.

               “Security’s gonna run you down hard,” he said. He noted with no small amount of glee that he was the last person, aside from Cobb, to be sent to sleep. Arthur had to have done that on purpose, right?

               A small smile played across Arthur’s face. “And I will lead them on a merry chase.”

_Oh my god. This man is adorable._ Of course he would. But he should still be careful. Fischer’s mind was well-trained, well-protected. Eames wished someone could’ve stayed behind with Arthur to help him. Not that Eames thought he needed help, obviously. He just would’ve felt better if he had some. He could go into the final stage without worrying quite so much. But he always worried about Arthur.

               He smiled up at the point man. “Just be back before the kick.”

               He knew Arthur would think he was only saying that because he didn’t have complete faith in him, because they seemed like quasi-rivals to everyone else. But the truth was, he was saying it because he was madly in love with the uptight man in front of him, who maybe wasn’t so uptight after all, just focused and by-the-book. On anyone else, that would’ve been boring. But not with Arthur. Eames respected him. He trusted him. But he also wanted him to be smart and not get himself killed.

               Because Eames had made a decision. The minute this shitshow of a job was over, he was going to make his move.

               “Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”

               He was sure Arthur had meant to sound serious, and maybe even a little annoyed. But as he drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help the smile still tugging at his lips. Arthur really _did_ care, in his own stoic way. And Eames couldn’t wait until this was all over to see just how much he did.

…


	15. Chapter Fifteen - Cobb's Perspective

               The job was finished. Cobb’s heart was soaring. _Somehow_ they had managed to pull it off. Saito had made the phone call. He would finally be able to see his children again. He could _finally_ go home.

               He was striding through the airport, within view of the wonderful, glorious exit, when he happened to glance over. Eames and Arthur were standing on opposites ends of the baggage carousel. It was obvious that they wanted to speak to one another—they kept glancing at each other and looking away. They were both fidgeting, and Cobb made a silent prayer of thanks that he had lived to see the day that Eames turned _that_ red.

               He was wondering if he should intervene, nudge them along somehow, despite how embarrassing _that_ would be for everyone involved—“Hey Arthur, I know I’m basically your boss and all, but you should just go for it with Eames already, man”—when, like two angels of death, Yusuf and Ariadne descended upon the unsuspecting lovebirds.

               Yusuf placed his arm around Eames. From afar, it looked like an affectionate bro-hug, but Cobb knew better. Eames’ face was pinched in pain. Yusuf was side-hugging him quite tightly.

               Ariadne was standing in front of Arthur. Her death glare was quite impressive, despite her short stature. Cobb was halfway across the room from them, and even _he_ was a little scared of her. (He had definitely _not_ been scared of her and her knowledge of Mal and all his deepest darkest secrets. He had _not_ been, damnit!)

               Cobb could see that Yusuf and Ariadne were about to non-awkwardly do what he could not. He knew he should just keep walking. His mind and his heart were telling him to mind his own damn business. But then he flashed back to the endless _hours_ spent with Eames as he had rehearsed his speech for the idea he was going to present to the group, aka Arthur. And to the way Arthur had known Eames was in Mombasa for no good reason at all.

               Almost of their own accord, Cobb’s feet led him to a pillar so he could stand—okay, _hide_ —behind. It was oh-so-conveniently located—it was directly between the two ends of the baggage carousel, enabling him to…well, to _eavesdrop_ on both conversations simultaneously **.***

               Cobb tried to feel guilty, but it only lasted for about half a second. He had _earned_ this, damnit. He would bear witness to this happy ending if it was the last thing he did.

_Aside from seeing my_ children _again, of course._ Cobb rubbed his neck sheepishly.

               Ariadne was currently giving Arthur a piece of her mind. Cobb peered around the corner of the pillar and listened in.

               “That kiss was bullshit, and you know it.”

_What the—? When had_ they _kissed? And what the_ hell _, Arthur! Don’t cheat on Eames like that!_

               “It was not,” Arthur grumbled lamely.

               Ariadne gave him a look. It was the same look Cobb was giving him.

               Cobb sighed happily to himself, overcome for a moment with a sort of fatherly pride. He hoped Phillipa turned out like Ariadne.

               “It was, and you know it. Look, you helped me learn the ropes, and I appreciate it. I’m going to return the favor. Get your head out of your ass and tell Eames how you feel.”

               Cobb only had a side view of Arthur, but he could tell that the usually-composed point man was beet red.

               “I don’t know—”

               He actually _choked_ on the word. Cobb was _this_ close to laughing aloud. He pinched himself and tried to keep it together.

               “Don’t finish that sentence,” Ariadne reprimanded him. “What you do is great and all, but it doesn’t mean much if you have to do it alone. Even Cobb knew that.”

               Arthur and Cobb nodded simultaneously.

               “You’re not fooling anyone,” Ariadne continued, more gently this time. “Sometimes life makes it hard to be happy. Don’t be your own cause of suffering.”

               Cobb knew she was thinking of him and Mal, but he wasn’t offended. She was right. He had caused himself a lot of suffering, and while he had partially deserved it, he knew he had done the right thing in limbo. He had needed to let Mal go, and he had.

               And now Arthur and Eames needed to figure their damn shit out so he could go home already.

               “ _Seriously?_ ”

               Cobb whipped around to the other side of the pillar. He had _never_ heard Yusuf use that tone of voice before.

               “Are you _seriously_ going to tell me,” Yusuf continued more quietly, obviously now speaking through gritted teeth, “That you have _no idea_ what I’m talking about?”

               Eames looked as ashamed as he was capable of looking while still managing to smirk.

               Yusuf rolled his eyes. “We have talked about this _twice_ already, Eames. Now is the third. I know everyone thinks I’m a patient man, and I am. But _you_. You have made me like _this_.”

               Yusuf pointed to a few beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. It was actually fairly cold in the airport, so he had a point.

               Eames knew better than to say anything, so Yusuf barreled on. He was obviously on a roll.

               “I may not know much of love, but I know that ignoring it won’t make it go away. Swallow your pride and _do something_ , Eames! Arthur is waiting right there for you! Don’t be a fool!”

               Yusuf was evidently gripping Eames even harder now, if his pained expression was anything to go by.

               “You made me suffer for _so long_ with your silly flirting—like a child! All I wanted was to do my experiments, but oh _no_ , you just _had_ to be there. You made poor Arthur so anxious. I _like_ him, Eames. Don’t be a dick. He is a good man, and despite everything, so are you. It’s a good match! Don’t let it slip through like _that_.”

               He snapped his fingers in front of Eames’ face. The forger looked as uncomfortable as Cobb had ever seen him. He stifled a cackle.

               “Phew!” Yusuf said, smiling, now returning to his usual, happy self. “That has been pent-up for a _long_ time.” He smacked Eames on the back. By the echoing sound, it had been needlessly hard. “Good luck!”

               Their missions now complete, Ariadne and Yusuf made eye contact. They air high-fived and then went their separate ways.

               Cobb sighed to himself. He wished he had friends.

               His eyes had only left Arthur and Eames for a few seconds, but when he looked back at them, he saw that they were now standing quite close together.

               “I like you, do you like me?”

               Cobb’s eyes almost bulged out of his head. Was that _Arthur_ speaking? What the—? Were they in _middle_ school?

               “You always pick on me.”

               Eames was a grown fucking man. Right now he sounded like a whining child.

               “I thought you didn’t like me,” Eames continued.

               He…he _was_ pouting, yes. Cobbs’ eyes were not deceiving him.

               “No, no!” Arthur said quickly. “I just didn’t know how to act around you.”

               Arthur was earnestly staring into Eames’ eyes. The forger still looked unsure. Cobb’s heart swelled a little. Even if they were idiots, they were still pretty cute together.

               It was obvious that Eames was torn between a snarky reply and an honest one. _Come on, Eames_ , Cobb silently urged him, like an older Puck or a grown-ass Cupid. _Get your shit together._

               “Of course I like you,” Eames said after a moment. “But I need to know one thing.”

               Cobb had never seen Arthur that happy, not once. He was smiling like he’d just received the best present in the entire universe.

_Like the gift of seeing your_ children _again?_ Cobb harshly reminded himself.

               Cobb poked his head around the other side of the pillar to get a better view. They were _almost_ there. After literally _years_ of this adolescent game of hair-pulling and name-calling, of bearing witness to the tireless, relentless flirting, but both men too damn stubborn to do anything about it—he was going to _see_ this Hollywood moment, damnit.

               He thought back on how every _single_ person the three of them had ever worked with had come to Cobb complaining about the lovebirds and how they just needed to get together already. He had felt like the Godfather on the day of his daughter’s wedding. _So many_ people had come to him, begging him, _pleading_ with him, in some cases, to do something. To end everyone else’s suffering. But how could he have? He was their _boss_. It would’ve been so weird.

               He had been the only one to witness _all_ the interactions. Cobb had always been the common denominator. And now, blessedly, like avenging angels, Ariadne and Yusuf had released him from his hellish prison. He was _so close_ to redemption. So close to freedom.

               “What’s that?” Arthur said, and Cobb snapped back to reality **.****

               “I need to know that you respect my work. Really, truly respect it. It may sound silly to you. But it’s important to me.”

               Cobb didn’t know if he’d ever heard Eames speak that honestly. Arthur also looked a bit taken aback.

               He leaned forward, resting both hands on Eames’ shoulders. “Eames,” he said, and he spoke with such emotion that for a moment Cobb felt badly about eavesdropping…but then it passed, “I have never met someone who works with as much imagination and, well, _grace_ as you do. Everything you do is… _beautiful_. I’ve always been jealous of your talent. I just feel like a machine in comparison.”

               Cobb’s mouth was hanging open. He had always known, of course, that Arthur was jealous of Eames’ skill, but he hadn’t realized how incompetent it had made him feel.

               “Arthur,” Eames said, and he spoke with such tenderness that Cobb wanted to cry with happiness. “Do you really mean that?”

               “Of course I do,” Arthur said, and smiled. “You’re the man of my dreams.”

               For a moment, time stood still. Had…had Arthur _really_ just said the cheesiest line in all of _history_? Had Cobb _really_ stuck around, delaying seeing his _children_ , for _this_?

               And yet, as much as he wanted to hate this sappy display of affection, Eames seemed to be eating it up with a spoon. He giggled—yes, built-like-a-wall Eames actually _giggled_ —and then the two idiots finally kissed.

               On the other side of the carousel, Cobb thought he saw Saito leap out from behind a pillar, jump for joy, and then dash happily away into the darkness. But that had probably just been his mind playing tricks on him **.*****

               Cobb turned away, having to rest on the pillar for a moment for support. He was not ashamed by the stray tear rolling down his cheek. He hadn’t been able to cry since Mal died. It felt good to feel again, especially when it was for something happy like this.

               He now knew one thing for certain, and it filled his heart with joy—he knew he was no longer asleep. There was _no way_ his mind could ever have come up with something as cheesy and ridiculous as Arthur’s “man of my dreams” line. So _that_ was a relief.

               But more than that, Cobb was genuinely happy for the men. He knew a thing or two about dancing around your feelings for someone. He and Mal had had a similar sort of banter, a similar sort of teasing and flirting early on in their relationship. Things had been _good_ then.

               And now they were again.

               Cobb smiled fondly at the memories, and resumed walking through the airport. If Mal were here now, he knew her mind would be whirling as she began planning the idiots’ wedding. Cobb chuckled to himself. He would be more than happy to honor Mal’s memory, and celebrate his own ecstatic relief that Arthur and Eames had _finally_ gotten their heads out of their asses, and begin planning their nuptials.

               They didn’t need to know this, of course. But Cobb couldn’t wait to gather _all_ the people the three of them had _ever_ worked with—every _single_ person who had ever bore witness to their flirting, and therefore knew of their intense and undying love for one another—and enlist their help. Ariadne and Yusuf would be his primary helpers, naturally.

               It was going to be _big_. It was going to be _lavish_. And it was going to be _magical_ , goddamnit. It’s what Mal would’ve wanted.

…

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AN: Please picture the gif of Kim Kardashian hiding behind a bush and peeking out and smiling here. Only this time, it’s Cobb, as played by Leo DiCaprio. PICTURE IT.
> 
> **AN: Or did he? Dun dun dunnn.
> 
> ***AN: It wasn’t. ;D
> 
> ...
> 
> Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! :)


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